Mistake Number Two
by Dark Akuma Hunter
Summary: Sequel to Mistake Number One. The first mistake was God's. The second was all on the wizards. Didn't mummy ever tell you not to summon strange creatures? Warning for slash and a tiny bit of gore - hardly classifiable as gore - at the very end.


**A/N: I'm not entirely sure where this came from. I've been in a weird mood lately and it's obviously affecting my muse.**

**Mistake Number Two:**

Theoretically, Harry had known that Crowley spent a lot of his time top-side. Experiencing it was something completely different. It felt like his soul had aged years and years down in Hell, and yet barely even a year had passed by up there. As disconcerting as it was, it was also intriguing to realise that time could flow in such different manners while being side by side.

It also meant that the world he emerged into from the depths of Hell was essentially the same one he had been torn from. There hadn't been time enough for many people to have died, considering the majority of his acquaintances were young and in good health, and it would be… curious, he supposed, to see what would happen from this point on.

Crowley had, in a manner of speaking, become Harry's master. He clung to his presence, became moody in his absence. While alive he had never really had the time to notice it, but there was a part of him, deep down, that needed to have orders to follow. That's all he'd ever done during his lifetime, followed orders from one person or the next. He'd been too pissed off, too irritated down in Hell for the feeling to surface, but now that he was free of it all the urge to be controlled was beginning to bubble to the surface.

One would have thought that Harry would rebel against the feeling, fight it. But with Crowley, he embraced it, as weird as it seemed. Crowley had given him options, given him attention, given him… some sort of demonic version of _affection_ even. Things he had craved, things he had missed…

It would be absurd to say that he was in _love_ with Crowley, but he was definitely something. It could be lust, need, or even desperation. All that mattered was that he was free, and surprisingly happy.

* * *

As a soul Harry didn't have a physical body. He could interact with Crowley without thought, but actual people, they couldn't see him, hear him or touch him. Crowley had briefly suggested he grab a vessel, overshadow someone – ghost possessions were much rarer than demonic ones, but they still happened, were still possible. Harry had shot him down. He didn't want someone else's body. As long as he looked like himself, and as long as he had Crowley around, he didn't care about having a body. If the need arose he could make himself visible by forcing his magic to make him a temporary casing, as it were.

There was no need for a body on a regular basis. Harry rather enjoyed the convenience of not needing to worry about bodily functions. Watching Crowley drink was more interesting than drinking himself, and there was nothing he really missed about having a functioning body. He didn't lust pointlessly over food like the ghosts at Hogwarts had, it had no appeal to him.

Harry stuck with Crowley as often as he could, and although he'd never show it, he felt as though the demon was somewhat flattered by the attention. Watching him, Harry was quick to realise that he wasn't the sort to have friends, or even acquaintances, or even really any lackeys. There was no one around – Crowley was predominantly alone. Maybe that was why he had been so surprised when Harry begged to come with him. He was shocked that someone was willingly putting themselves in his presence for long periods of time.

Crowley was an enigma; that was for sure. He had this massive aversion to showing any sort of _weak _emotion, but almost seemed pleased when Harry let out his own emotions. Like he was glad that Harry was comfortable enough around him to allow himself to be weak, vulnerable. He didn't mind. It only served to make their odd relationship more interesting.

* * *

Watching Crowley work had a tendency to make Harry jealous. Whoever it was that first decided crossroads deals should be sealed with a kiss needed a serious beat-down, because Harry couldn't deal with it. Other people shouldn't be kissing his… whatever he was. It pissed him off. Even so, he didn't stop accompanying Crowley on deals. He needed to see it. Needed to know what was happening. Needed to be around him.

Clingy, that's what Harry was becoming, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Sometimes he found himself wondering why Crowley bothered – it wasn't as though there was anything holding him to it, he had no obligation to keep making deals. He could be bored, sure, but Harry couldn't actually imagine Crowley being bored; it simply didn't fit with the image he had of the demon. No matter how much he wondered though, he would never ask, because it would be admitting, at least in part, to the jealously he tried to deny.

A jealously Crowley would probably mock him for.

* * *

It was four months after Harry began living top-side with Crowley that something properly interesting happened.

Demon deals were generally made with muggles. This was due to the fact that a) the wizarding world refused to admit that there might be something else out there other than the ministry-aware magical creatures, and b) muggles seemed more open to suggestion.

This time was a bit different.

To start with, Crowley _requested _his presence for the meeting, regardless of the fact that Harry would have come with him anyway. It was the first time he had actually expressed a desire for Harry to watch him work, but Harry wasn't naïve enough not to realise that there was something about this that he wanted Harry to see – it wasn't him admitting he wanted Harry around for company.

Then there was the location. It might have been years since he last felt it, but Harry could still recognise the energy in the air – they were in a magical area, heavily populated if the buzz was anything to go by. There was always the chance it was a coincidence – there weren't all that many crossroads in Britain these days that weren't paved over, and the backwards wizards _would_ let theirs remain dirt – but he knew instinctively that that wasn't the case. Why else would Crowley have been so keen? Harry had hardly kept his magic a secret.

Obediently Harry fell into place, half a step back and to the left of Crowley. For the most part he was still invisible, would remain so until told otherwise. He stared at the dirt beneath his feet, wondering absently if his sneakers were going to get dirty. It wouldn't be the first time, but it always confused him, the logistics of his situation.

"Well this is curious," Crowley piped up, moving forward with his hands clasped loosely behind his back. Harry glanced up, properly taking in his surroundings for the first time. When his gaze caught on the figure Crowley was talking to he froze, lips pulling into a dark frown.

"You have got to be kidding me," Harry muttered, folding his arms across his chest as he examined the ginger man. Crowley shot him an amused grin before carrying on.

"What could a little wizard possibly want from little old me?" He asked lightly, as though talking about the weather rather than ones reason for wanting to sell their soul. It was so ridiculous and so Crowley that Harry snorted in amusement, relaxing and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Are you… are you really a demon?" The ginger man asked, voice shaking, and it made Harry want to laugh all the harder. This man, who had once been Harry's friend, had actually had the nerve to summon a demon, and then question his very existence!

"Don't be stupid," Crowley muttered, reprimanding him, "Of course I'm a demon. Now what is it that you want, hmm? Obviously not magic, you've got enough of it right there." He pressed his finger to Ron's chest and watched as Ron shuddered, clearly frightened and out of his depth.

Seeing his once-friend like that, scared out of his wits by Harry's… by Crowley, it was brilliant. And his amusement and seething rage were fully justifiable too, because whatever was happening here it wasn't Ron asking for Harry back. They had never been close enough for Ron to actually research this sort of thing for him.

Nodding his head in thought Harry started walking, nearing the stare-down and coming to a stop directly behind Crowley, not unlike that time back in Hell when their positions were reversed. Reaching forward he draped his arms around Crowley's neck and, standing on his toes, rested his chin on Crowley's shoulder. Ron's terrified face stared back at him and he grinned, even though he still couldn't be seen.

Finally Ron seemed to come back to himself, wrenching his feet from the ground and taking a quick step back, away from Crowley's hand. Feeling vengeful – Crowley could have had the decency to tell him what was going on before they arrived – he pressed his lips to the exposed skin of his neck, watching as he attempted to ignore Harry, although unable to hide the slight tremble that raced through his body.

"I… ah… I read that you could… _bring people back from the dead._" Ron whispered the last part and quickly glanced around, checking that the coast was still clear and no one had heard him. Necromancy was, of course, illegal, and this probably classified as necromancy.

"Oh? And who did you have in mind? A friend perhaps, one with green eyes and black hair?" Crowley taunted, knowing full well that Ron didn't have that in mind, and they both watched in satisfaction as Ron twitched, heavy with guilt.

"N-no. Harry wou-… I could… No. No, I… I want you to bring back my wife. Hermione."

Harry scowled into Crowley's neck and tightened his grip subconsciously. Crowley inclined his head slightly – barely even a twitch, but enough for Harry to notice, as close as he was. It was permission; he could show himself whenever he wanted.

"Well, that's a relief. I'm not really in the business of giving away my things."

Ron gaped uncomprehendingly at Crowley while Harry rolled his eyes, materialising so he could smack Crowley in the head.

"You don't _own_ me," Harry muttered fondly, "Git."

Then he turned his gaze, unhindered by glasses, to Ron's ghastly pale face.

"Long time no see," he greeted sarcastically, not moving from his comfortably draped position. Harry never thought he would take pleasure in frightening the ginger, but right then it seemed like the most fun he'd had in ages.

"You… you… H-harry?"

As entertaining as it was, seeing Ron reduced to stuttering and half-sentences, he wasn't much in the mood for it. He'd rather have some time, just himself and Crowley. That possessive feeling was bubbling up inside of him, and drawing out the deal-making process wasn't helping.

"The one and only. I wasn't aware Hermione had died. Did you not bother upping security after my murder? That makes her death your fault, but I suppose you already knew that." Relinquishing his tight grasp on Crowley Harry backed up a step. "Crowley, be a dear and hurry up with the deal, okay?"

The demon shot him a look, one of mixed amusement, exasperation and curiosity.

"Right away luv," he acquiesced, turning his attention back to Ron. "You know the drill. I bring her back, you get ten years before I collect my payment. Understood?"

Ron nodded mutely, unable to speak.

"Perfect."

Harry couldn't help the snarl that slipped past his lips as Crowley surged forwards, sealing the deal with a press of lips before Ron had the chance to realise what was happening. He would never get used to seeing Crowley kiss other people. When it was over he continued glaring at Ron as he walked over to Crowley once more, keeping eye contact with the man – who seemed like he was seconds away from fainting – until he stood in front of the demon. Crowley stared down at him and Harry stared straight back, gathering the lapels of his jacket in his hands. After a moment's consideration Harry yanked him forward, pressing himself against Crowley's body and fusing their lips together.

Ignoring Ron – who by then had quite happily fainted – the duo disappeared.

* * *

Ten years later, when all Ron could hear was the furious growling and howling of Crowley's favourite hellhounds, Harry returned to him.

For a split-second, Ron thought he might have been there to help, to save him, but then the memories of the night he made the deal came rushing back to him. Harry did nothing as he stood in the corner of the room, watching as Ron tried to protect himself with magic.

Hermione was gone for the night, which was a shame. It would have been so much better if she had been around to witness the punishment her husband had brought upon himself for saving her.

The hellhounds surrounded Ron with little effort, and that was when the show really began.

They attacked him from all sides, biting into him, tearing at his arms and legs. The expression on Ron's face when he saw the claw marks appearing out of nowhere was one Harry would savour for years to come. They were savage and ruthless, and Harry loved every moment of it.

When Ron lay on the carpet, stomach ripped open and intestines littering the floor around him, rapidly bleeding out and barely breathing, Harry knelt down next to him, magnifying his voice to an audible level.

Watching with morbid satisfaction as the light began to fade from blue eyes, he whispered menacingly, "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to make deals with demons?"


End file.
